


These are the Sorts of Tales We Tell

by sherific



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherific/pseuds/sherific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my junior year, everyone told me to be careful with him.<br/>“His family has a lot of money,” they whispered as he jogged through the hallway, “You don’t want to get on his bad side. They’ll sue or something.”<br/>But he was only a freshman, and I had no real reason to encounter him anyways. He was supposedly a really good athlete, or something like that. Achilles, they called him, after the Greek hero. Swift-footed Achilles. The name pulled at the corner of my lips. It’s nicknames and tales like that that make high school something people want to watch on TV.<br/>Well, Patroclus, it’s junior year! What do you want to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            In my junior year, everyone told me to be careful with him.

            “His family has a lot of money,” they whispered as he jogged through the hallway, “You don’t want to get on his bad side. They’ll sue or something.”

            But he was only a freshman, and I had no real reason to encounter him anyways. He was supposedly a really good athlete, or something like that. _Achilles_ , they called him, after the Greek hero. _Swift-footed Achilles_. The name pulled at the corner of my lips. It’s nicknames and tales like that that make high school something people want to watch on TV.

            _Well, Patroclus, it’s junior year! What do you want to do?_

            Those were the echoes I shoved into my locker with my SAT prep books and my binders. Every day, that came up at home. It’s hard when no one in your family has made a name for themselves, when everyone is just like chalk on a sidewalk, stepped on and washed away before they can ever turn into something artful. I had an angular, awkward body that was too tall and clunked around like a mannequin, so obviously, I was not a legend in sports at school. I had taken a liking to science a bit, but I was nowhere near spectacular.

            _What do you want to do?_

            As soon as I had pulled the books I needed from the shelves of my locker, I turned around and for the first time laid my eyes upon a shimmering legend. Girls flocked around him, playfully tugging at his golden locks, chirping at him like birds.

            “Achilles, are you free tomorrow?”

            “Achilles, I’m throwing a party at my place Saturday!”

            The legend flashed a surprisingly warm, humble grin, answering each girl by name with a voice like wind chimes clinking on a summer breeze.

            “Yeah, I’m free tomorrow, Sarah. Let’s go out for some yogurt. Grace, that party sounds real fun! I’ll definitely be there!”

            The edges of my skin felt familiar with the prickle of invisibility, my lengthy limbs faded into the lockers as I followed the legend with my eyes, his brilliance the center of attention. I gathered my senses and started on my way to class, gluing my eyes to the linoleum floor, clutching my textbooks like a lover I would never have.  Before I reached for the doorknob, I looked up to take one last look at the legend and stumbled backward to see that he was staring right back at me, a foot away from me.

            “Oops,” he grinned. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

            “It’s alright,” I said quietly, readjusting the skewed books in my arms.

            “Is this Honors Spanish III?”

            “Yeah,” I answered, surprised. “Are you in this class?”

            “Yeah. My mom made me take a lot of classes outside school in middle school so that I could accelerate or whatever. So I’ll be in this class with you.”

            I pulled the door open, hand searing with envy. Not only was he a sports legend, he was an academic genius as well. Unceremoniously, I slid into my desk by the window, staring out at the rust-red track, picturing him running laps with the same humble grin from the hallway on his face.

            “What’s your name?” he asked, plopping down next to me.

            “Hm? It’s Patroclus.”

            He laughed. “Wait, really? No way! I’m Achilles.”

            “That’s your real name? I thought it was just a nickname.”

            “Nope! I’m Achilles, the greatest Achaean!” He smiled. “And you’re Patroclus, huh?”

            “My parents are average people,” I noted glumly. “Even going through the effort of searching for a legendary name just to give me the name of a squire.”

            “I didn’t think Patroclus was so bad. I don’t know how familiar you are with the myth, but Patroclus was a brave warrior.”

            “I know the myth,” I said a bit more harshly than I meant. I pressed my lips together and propped by head up with my elbow, looking out the window again with regret.

            “Just saying,” he muttered, pulling out a mess of a binder. “I thought you would be the least scary junior and here you are being just as scary as the rest of them,” he said, his tone vaguely serious.

            _You don’t want to get on his bad side. They’ll sue or something._

            “I’m sorry,” I apologized blandly, reaching up and smoothing down my cowlick, an old nervous habit from my elementary school days.

            “Nah, it’s okay. So do you do any sports, Patroclus?” He looked up at me hopefully.

            I snorted. “Me? No way.”

            “Really?” He looked me up and down. “I think you’d make a good runner.”

            “What gives you that idea?” Just the thought of it made me lose my breath.

            “Intuition, I guess. You ought to come try out with me.”

            “I’m too busy,” I blurted sheepishly as an excuse. My heart race and anxiety wrung out my stomach.

            “My dad tells me that high school is shorter than you want it to be. He tells me to try everything before my time’s up. So maybe you ought to try a sport, since your time’s almost up, you scary junior.”

            _What do you want to do?_

            “Sure,” I whispered, my nerves getting the best of me. “I’ll try.”

            “You’ll be great,” he assured me with a sincerity I rarely heard, studying me like I was a sad small child he encountered on the street huddled up in a dank corner, “Patroclus.” If you had heard the way he said my name, you would have believed it was a spell uttered by a goddess upon some poor soul, vanquishing his curse of invisibility forever.

            “ _Buenas tardes,_ ” our teacher greeted when he entered, but I hardly heard him.

            _Patroclus_. If everyone said my name the way he did, I was convinced that I would become a legend as well.


	2. Chapter 2

“Two days back at school, now, eh? How does it feel?”

            I prodded at my fish, breaking it apart into smaller and smaller pieces, as if I was about to feed it to a cat. “The same,” I said plainly.

            “Got started on those SATs yet?” my dad asked.

            The fluorescent light above the dinner table made all food look unappetizing. “Yeah,” I replied half-heartedly.

            Our dinners followed a certain sort of routine. My parents, out of courtesy, would always ask a bit about my life as we began to chow down, but nothing ever in detail, because I hardly gave them any answers. I loved my parents, like any normal child, but had always found it difficult to talk to them. After they completed their polite duty, we would eat in silence, and I would go to my room to finish my homework. But today I broke the routine.

            “I met someone new today,” I told them shyly.

            “Yeah?” my mom piped up hopefully, excited to hear that I was speaking to them for once.

            “Yeah. He’s a freshman. His name is Achilles. He’s a sports legend, and he’s an academic genius.”

            “Oh! That’s wonderful, Patroclus. Maybe you’ll make a new friend!”

            “Maybe,” I echoed emptily. After some time, I added, “He invited me to try out for track with him.” My stomach gurgled at the mention.

            “You should! I think that would be great for you! You would have such a good time and make friends and get in shape!”

            “I’m a little nervous.”

            “Now, now, I’m sure you’ll be great!”

            I didn’t feel as assured as I did when Achilles had said the same thing. When my mom said it, it almost felt forced, and I lost my appetite completely.

            “I’m not hungry today,” I murmured, rising and dragging myself off to my room.

            Unconsciously, I wondered if Achilles lived a home life this drab and dreary. Did he drag himself to his bedroom the way I did? Did he feel as jaded and numb as I did when he spoke to his parents? I clicked the home button on my phone to check the time. A boulder sank into my stomach when I noticed I had no new notifications. Not a call, text, or email. I wasn’t expecting anything more, but every day I trudged into my cramped, gray bedroom with half a hope that someone was waiting to talk to me. Every day a disappointment, but still I played this miserable game with myself, never stopping to question why. One thing I knew for certain was that Achilles never had this issue with all the boys and girls alike swarming him the minute he stepped out of his house. A legend is a legend wherever he goes.

_Patroclus, maybe we ought to get you some help. You seem so down all the time. Is everything alright at school? Is there something you want to tell us?_

            “Am I down all the time…?” I whispered to myself, picking up my pencil and twirling it contemplatively.

             I came to the conclusion later that night, twisted in my blankets, face buried into my pillow, huddled in warmth I could not feel. I was not down. I just had nothing to be happy about.


	3. Chapter 3

            “Well, Patroclus,” the counselor began thoughtfully, “your grades are fine, and, according to what you’re telling me, your home life is fine. How’s your social life? Your friends?”

            “I have a couple friends…” I answered thinly. It wasn’t a lie. I walked to school with a set of twins who lived down the street from me. They were pleasant enough, and we would talk about our classes as our sneakers padded down the sidewalk, but once we reached school, they would disappear into their own universe, and I would disappear into mine.

            “And how’s that working out? Do you enjoy them?”

            “They’re okay.”                      

            “Just okay?” The counselor leaned in with searching eyes, scanning me up and down for any clue I would give him.

            I nodded silently, avoiding his gaze.

            “Well,” he sighed, “if you say so. Have you thought about making any new friends? Joining a club or a sport maybe?”

            “Well… Someone invited me to try out for track, but I’m not really sure about it.”

            “Why not? That sounds wonderful.”

            “I’m not good at sports.” I rubbed my arms nervously.

            “Well, I think you ought to give it a try. If anything, exercise is a great outlet.”

            I nodded again, keeping my eyes hidden by my stringy brown hair.

            “Well, Patroclus, thanks for checking in with me. If you have any problems, and I mean _any_ , you come to me, okay? I’m always here for you.”

            “Thanks,” I said quietly, eager to leave.

            He shook my hand and I rushed out, inhaling the fresh air of the hallway, relieved to be out of the dark stuffy room. Leaning against the lockers directly outside happened to be none other than swift-footed Achilles, scrolling through his texts on his phone. Embarrassed, I tried to hurry off before he saw me stepping out of the counselor’s office, but he looked up right when he heard the click of the door behind me.

            “Patroclus!” he exclaimed, saying my name in that same way, the legendary way.

            “A-Achilles,” I greeted awkwardly, heat rising to my cheeks.

            “Ready for tryouts? They’re today!”

            “Oh, yeah…” I felt the weight of my running shoes in my backpack as a reminder.

            “Man, I’m just so amped! I heard high school sports are the best!”

            “I really wouldn’t know,” I said, preoccupied with the hope that he wouldn’t bring up my excursion, but nausea pained my stomach when I saw him glancing at the title on the office door.

            “Afterwards,” he began, his tone a bit more serious. I worried for what was to come. “Do you want to go get some yogurt with me?”

            I exhaled my relief. “Yeah, sure.”

            “Awesome! See you then!”

            The rest of the day was an anxious blur. Before I knew it, I sat out on the hot metal bleachers in gym shorts and running shoes, shielding my eyes from the sun with Achilles ready to burst with excitement next to me. I found it strange that despite our obvious differences, given our age and our ability in sports, this was, for both of us, our first time trying out for a high school sport.

            “Aaaaallriiight, guys! Let’s get started with a couple laps around the track!”

            After the first lap, I already felt dizzy and lightheaded, huffing and puffing, head lowered with shame. Achilles, as expected, led the group, the radiant sun reflecting off his warm golden locks, feet agile and light, as if he danced upon the wind like a god, all eyes on his divinity, not a concern weighing on his limbs. I didn’t even noticed that I had halted completely as I was so captivated by his movements. I had never had a crush in my life, nor had I ever had any interest in romance, but standing there in the heat, my throat scorched, my legs aching, I watched Achilles, the freshman legend, and had a brief flicker of a thought that I would have liked to hold him the way I held my textbooks on the way to class, and have a little bit of that legend to love.

            “Patroclus!” Achilles called, face twisted with disbelief. “What are you doing just standing there?”

            “Huh?” I shook my head, disoriented. “Oh!” My whole body turned red with embarrassment.

            Achilles’ laugh reminded me of the jangling of the keys to my first car. “It’s okay. I don’t think anyone saw. C’mon, let’s get some water.”

            By the time the tryout was over with, my legs burned like spicy peppers, and my breath had escaped with the passing breeze. I wheezed and coughed, turning away from the rest of the boys to hide my shame.

            “Patroclus,” Achilles appeared next to me, grinning. “How was it?”

            “Hell,” I blurted bluntly, too tired to mince my words.

            He chuckled. “I thought you did okay.”

            “Really…?” My clumsy limbs had weighed me down the whole time, flailing like a drowning child.

            “Yeah. When you told me you were bad at sports, I thought you meant that you were _bad_ as in hopeless. But you have potential.”

            “Thanks…” I muttered, blushing slightly.

            “How do you think I did?” He put his hands on his hips proudly.

            “Amazing, of course. You’re just as good as they said.”

            “The greatest Achaean, that’s me!” he joked.

            “Your parents were pretty insightful when they named you.” I toweled the sweat from my brow.

            “Ready for yogurt?” he asked.

            “Yeah.”

            My feet ached as we walked, and I deeply regretted my decision to walk there rather than take the bus or drive. Achilles seemed unfazed and oblivious to my struggle as he walked with a confident step, head held high.

            “So do you live near here?” he asked.

            “Yeah,” I said. “Just a couple blocks down Phthia street.”

            “Wait, really?”

            “Yeah, why?”

            “I live on that street!”

            “Really? How come I’ve never seen you?”

            “I live way up north, in the hills.”

            “Oh, so must be far down the street, then.” Up where all the wealthy people lived with their fountains and well-kept lawns. A far cry from my cramped, shabby house.

            “Yeah.” He paused. “So when do you think they’ll announce the teams?”

            “Tomorrow, probably. They’re pretty quick about it.”

            A blast of air-condition swept through the glass doors of the shop, and we both sighed in welcome relief. Quietly, I plucked a cup from the stack and went to the dispensing machine, filling my cup with the tart white yogurt and topping it with cookie dough. At the cashier, I placed it on the scale, reading the price on the register only to realize I’d forgotten my wallet. Ashamed, I turned to my underclassman, who was happily licking some excess yogurt off his delicate fingers.

            “I-I’m sorry,” I croaked shyly, feeling the blush on my face “but I-”

            “My treat!” he cut me off, handing the cashier his debit card.

            “Thanks,” I murmured.

            “You know, Patroclus,” he said, handing me a plastic spoon, “you don’t have to be so embarrassed all the time. Nothing you do is ever really that embarrassing.”

            “Oh…” I didn’t know how to answer him, so I sat down, staring into my cup of sweetness.  As I ate my first cool spoonful, I realized that I hadn’t done anything to initiate conversation. I was his upperclassman, and I was supposed to be setting an example and guiding him along the way. Trying to push my bashfulness aside, I swallowed and asked, “So how do you like the school so far?”

            He looked up, his spoon still in his mouth, the crinkle by his soft green eyes telling me that he seemed pleased and touched by my effort. “I like it,” he said after he swallowed. “Everyone’s really nice, and the classes are interesting. I’m making a lot of friends.”

            “A lot, huh?” I repeated enviously before I could stop myself.

            Luckily, he didn’t notice the poison in my voice. “Yep! I’m really happy.”

            “That’s good,” I said hollowly, shoving another spoonful into my mouth before I could make another clumsy mistake.

            To my surprise, he asked, “What about you?”

            “Hm?”

            “How do you like school this year?”

            “It’s okay.” Automatically, I began the reel of empty replies I recorded for my parents.

            “Is it hard? I mean, with SATs and all.”

            “It’s okay.” I repeated, stirring my yogurt.

            He put his cup down and leaned over the table. I heard the skid of the chair sliding back, felt the nudge of his nose on mine. “Is it really?” he asked again airily.

            I stood, backing away, turning my head to hide the red spreading underneath my skin. “I-It’s fine!”

            “Really…” he sighed, sitting back down. “I’m sorry… I really wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” His words sounded messy, sloppily thrown together, as if he wasn’t used to apologizing.

            “It’s okay…”

            “I just… I know this is none of my business, but I saw you coming out of the counselor’s office today. You looked really glum. I noticed you don’t talk much so… I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to help you. It’s not pity or anything, but you looked like you needed someone to talk to.”

            Something caught in my throat, something heavy and bitter. My wide eyes ached, and a whimper escaped from my lips.

            “Patroclus, you can talk to me. I might not understand it, but you can talk to me.”

            His legendary glow had disappeared, the radiant grin wiped off his face. His spoon dangled from his long fingers. This was the Achilles no one else knew. This was not the swift-footed athletic prodigy. This was the Achilles that he kept reserved, the way I hid my emptiness in my lockers.

            “Patroclus.”

            I rose and I picked up my backpack, and escaped through the door with my clunky limbs, running so fast that not even the golden-haired freshman legend could catch a sight of my tears.

 


	4. Chapter 4

I walked into Honors Spanish III with a chain attached to my ankle. I had made the track team. I sunk into my chair with gloom hanging over me as I pulled out my materials like a zombie. I had not seen Achilles that day until he sat next to me, hair tied back into a sloppy bun, skin radiant as usual.

            “Congratulations,” he said, not looking at me.

            “You too,” I replied.

            The elephant squeezed between us, but neither of us acknowledged it despite its leathery, suffocating presence.

            The gargantuan animal followed us to the locker room, where we slammed our lockers at the same time, looking at each other briefly before dispersing to fill our water bottles. It followed us to practice, where I lagged behind hopelessly, watching him dance across the track like a stallion. Finally, as we leaned against the wall of the nearest building to catch our breaths, we acknowledged it.

            “I’m sorry about yesterday, Patroclus,” Achilles mumbled, eyes downcast.

            “It’s fine,” I croaked. “I’m sorry for ditching you like that. I didn’t even thank you for the yogurt…”

            “It’s fine, really…” He took a swig of water. “I’m sorry if I pushed any wrong buttons or something like that…”

            I shook my head. “It-It’s okay.” I paused. “Thanks for… for being so nice to me… I mean… I don’t… No one has…” I shook my head again, unable to form a coherent sentence.

            He tossed his water bottle to the grass and used his empty hand to curl his fingers around mine. When I blushed, he smiled simply, as if nothing had really happened.

            “Anytime,” he said. After a long silence, he said, “You know, what I like about the myth is that there’s a whole side of Achilles you don’t really see. He’s always the strong, prideful warrior, but no one ever really talks about his softer side. You don’t really see it much… But there is that one time that when Patroclus dies, you see him mourning, completely grief-stricken. He weeps day and night, anger fills him and he goes out to avenge his comrade, his friend. I like that about my namesake. I liked that he wasn’t strong all the time. Not everyone can be strong all the time.”

            “I’m never strong,” I whispered. “I’m older than you, but I’m not nearly what you are.”

            He paused, pressing his lips together to ponder. “You know,” he said finally, “you’re a lot like the myth Patroclus too. You see yourself as so much of a secondary character. People see Patroclus as weak, always relying on Achilles, having no strength of his own. But if you really dig into it, you realized that Patroclus, though not as strong as Achilles, is a noble warrior. He has a sense of morals and empathy. He goes out and fights for the Greeks, despite Achilles’ stubborn pride. He is bold, he is brave, but in his own way. Maybe you’re not a star athlete, and maybe you don’t have all the friends in the world, but you’re strong in your own way.” He squeezed my hand firmly. “You came out for tryouts with me. You went out to yogurt with me. Those things are new to you, but you did them anyways. I have no idea what you’re feeling depressed about, Patroclus, but if there’s any upperclassman I look up to, it’s you.”

            My sorrowful words stuck in my throat. I couldn’t move or speak. I had never had anything to be happy about. I looked at my life through glasses of black and white, going through the motions, giving empty answers. My hand throbbed within Achilles’ warm grip, and my eyes swelled with water. The legend pulled me down, placing his hands on my shoulders, humming a soft tune that might have been thousands of years old.

            “Patroclus,” he whispered, fitting our lips together. “Noble Patroclus.”

            My tears smeared both of our faces. I held him the way I held my blankets at night, kissed him the way I murmured poetry to myself in my bedroom. When we parted and I sobbed into his shoulder, he embraced me, playing with my hair like the strings of a lyre.

            “You asked me about my school year,” I said eventually, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

            “Yeah,” he said gently, his fingers trickling along the outer shell of my ear.

            “I like this school year a lot,” I answered, tucking my face into his sweaty neck. “Because I met you. I don’t really care about my SATs or my grades. I’m just glad I have something to be happy about now.”

            “Something to be happy about, eh?” His lips brushed my forehead. “Well, noble Patroclus, I’m truly honored to hear it.”

            He was a typical high school legend, and we were a typical high school romance. But these are the sort of tales we tell, like the tale of our namesakes from three thousand years ago. And I have never minded being part of tale, especially one with a pleasant ending.

 

           


End file.
